Hello (hello hello), is there anybody in there?

This infertility stuff is a real emotional roller coaster. The first of the month is full of possibility. The middle of the month is full of you know, that baby making part, the latter part of the month is the wait. The fingers drumming on the sideboard wait. Trying to keep busy wait. Trying to forget that you're waiting wait. And then the blood comes and you go through it again, the cycle of babymaking and the emotional blow as the reality that your blessed womb may never again carry in it a precious child becomes more and more clear. It can be downright depressing.

I started on Clomid this month and let me tell you I was full of excitement. For sure it would work, right? I've recorded my temperatures every morning. I've filled out my fertility charts. But here we are at the end of the month and it's just unbearable. Do I feel pregnant? No.  I feel normal. And really I feel sad, you know, about the feeling normal. I feel disenchanted. Hopeless. There's a whole gamut of kind of crappy emotions associated with this. Emotions that I highly doubt my husband feels. Emotions that, beyond this highly therapeutic blog are never conveyed to the rest of the child-bearing world, never conveyed to my many many childbearing friends, and emotions that even I like to pretend don't exist.

They do.

We just spent the afternoon with my friend Sarah, who if you were to go back and read my blog in 2009 she was a key player in it. We had our first babies together, shared a patient load when we both went back to work, and shared a beautiful, scary time together as new moms. Fast forward almost three years and Sarah now has three kids, all gorgeous, and TRULY I am so happy for her and her absolutely wonderful family. But I won't lie that when I watched her sons go down the slide holding on to each other and smiling, holding hands as they climbed hills, and playing together with the kind of comfort that only siblings can have, well I felt jealous. No, I felt sad. Sad because I want that close knit sisterhood, brotherhood, and I can not offer that to Ellie. Yes that makes me sad. Yes I can say that and not project that on to my true feelings of happiness for Sarah or any other friend of mine that has flourished in the fertility field. They are separate entities. But here on my own journey, it's hard to understand why this is so difficult. I'm 34. Yes I'm not a spry youth. But still, I've felt young enough to hold on to the hope that my body is still fertile.

I'm on day 24 of my first Clomid cycle. Still not feeling pregnant. Still going through the motions.

IN THE MEANTIME as I crawl out of the little pit of self pity I just let myself go down (and thank you for listening), this is the beautiful face that I get to see every day. Oh how I love her so.

When your reproductive self goes on strike.

My daughter is two years three months.
Which means if I were to get pregnant she would be just over three when her new brother/sister arrives. Three is good. A 3rd grader to a 6th grader. A senior to a freshman.

Only I'm not pregnant. And Ellie's sibling time span clock is tick tick ticking away.

I don't understand you, you crazy, unpredictable reproductive system. You surprised me with Ellie (which, btw, was the BEST surprise of my entire life). And see I sort of thought once my husband said "ok we can try for another" that somehow his words would magically hijack themselves onto his sperm and somehow make their way into the crazy, cavernous egg of LIFE. Only they didn't. Instead they went on strike, despite ovulation kits, phone apps and plenty of just-not-feeling-it sex.

I've tried to be laissez faire about the whole thing. You can't force these things to happen. But inside there is this TOTALLY AWESOME PARTY waiting to happen, full of confetti and streamers and balloons. Only each month the party recipient doesn't show up. Each month my balloons of hope get just a little more deflated. Each month. Each period. Each unfertilized egg.

I took me and my eggs to a new ob last week to figure out what the problem is. I've been given the task of taking my temperature every morning before I get up starting on day 3 of my period, which of course I totally forgot as today is day 3. Also yesterday I was supposed to get some blood work drawn and Mike got the task of jerking off in a cup, which for some reason cracks me up, and guys I have it written on a prescription pad! (ok, it doesn't say "jerk off in a cup" but it MAY AS WELL). And I don't know, I just don't wanna. I know Mike doesn't wanna. I guess I was hoping that by my GOING to the ob that my ovaries or whatever is on strike would GET THE POINT. I just don't want this to be so much work.

I know I'm blessed with a beautiful daughter. And let me tell you, she is the light of my world. I love being her mother, and just like I told Mike the other day, I feel like there is so much mothering in me. I feel so identified in the role of MOMMY and I really feel as though I am supposed to have more than one child to love. I know there are children out there that need homes, and maybe we will pursue that route one day, and that will be okay. But for now I'm in the midst of my monthly disappointment.

I remind myself of my blessings, for which there are many. I remind myself that these things will work out. But I still get to honor that one part of me that feels the disappointment. Because that's real, too.

Now excuse me, I need to go buy a new never-been-up-someones-butt thermometer.